


Charles's Confession

by CarrieMaxwell



Category: Let's Play (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Drinking, F/M, Guilt, Hangover, Heartbreak, Self-Pity, Worry, depressed, wallowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrieMaxwell/pseuds/CarrieMaxwell
Summary: Charles lays his heart on the line, confessing to Samara what she makes him feel, right before she finds out about his divorce and doesn't take the news well. She takes it upon herself to discover his address and go to his apartment later that evening, where he is in no mood for uninvited guests and they exchange bitter words.Thus begins a small journey as she flees her apartment and ignores her phone, leaving Charles with little to go on to find her and apologize.With his job on the line, will he find her in time before Samuel Sr. fires him for real?
Relationships: Charles Jones/Sam Young (Let's Play)
Comments: 107
Kudos: 152





	1. Weak...

He never expected that the news of his divorce would come as such a shock to her, just as he had not expected the head bunt that sent him reeling backwards for a moment, seeing double for a few seconds just before Lucy interrupted with a loud knock to his office door. 

And now, certainly, he wasn’t expecting her at his doorstep, nine o’clock in the evening, with those big doe eyes of hers imploring to be allowed entry.

He hung his head back and exhaled slowly, just trying to calm himself. Even though she had shown up out of the blue, it was still rude to have a lady stand out in the entrance.

“Just how did you find my address?” he demanded the moment she stepped into the foyer. His tone was far from friendly.

“I-I looked it u-up in the files…” she stuttered, shrinking almost right back out of the door.

“And then what? Flew here on a broom?” he sneered as he firmly shut the door, causing her to jump.

“I took a cab.” She answered, noticing he held a tumbler with an amber liquid inside. “You’re drinking?”

“A drink. I’ve had A DRINK.” He clarified with vehemence. “Would you like to judge me on that too?” he barked before downing it in one final shot.

She held in a breath, scared to say anything different. On the two occasions they had a public meal together, she recalled he had had a glass of wine and a pint of beer and nothing more. In the privacy of ones’ home though…

“You came all this way, so you better start saying whatever it is you intend to say.” He told her, walking down the hallway towards his kitchen to set the glass down. Sam just watched him go, unsure if he was inviting her further into his home or not, unsure whether she even wanted to venture further in.

\--Maybe this was a bad idea… He’s clearly upset.--

She heard the heavy clank as he all but slammed the crystal cut drinking glass down, the sound resonating off every wall, chilling her blood. “Are you going to lurk in the doorway?”

Hands clasped in front of her, she timidly marched down the hall and came upon the living area. It was an open floor design, nothing separating the kitchen, dining, and living room. She noticed the wood burning fireplace in the center, an odd but cheerful addition in this strangely glass and metal home.

\--More like a cage…--

“I-it’s lovely…” she uttered, unsure what to say.

“I normally reserve tours for daylight hours, so you’ll have to make do with the lighting. It’s pretty late for a conversation that could’ve happened over the phone.” He replied, hands pressed on his countertop, head down, shoulder blades raised up.

“I didn’t think you’d answer…and I felt it better to be face-to-face.”

“So you can head-butt me again? No thank you.” He scoffed. “Why are you here?”

She wanted him to look at her. Wanted those beautifully sad eyes to gaze down upon her and light up the way they had in his office. She wanted that moment back so badly.  
“Charles…I’m sorry about how I reacted.” She began, but let the rest trail off into nothing.

“If that was it, then you’re forgiven and can go now.”

“Please look at me.” She begged, seeing a wince cross his face as he hunched in his shoulders.

He shook his head. “I was a fool…and I led you on…and there’s nothing more I wish I could take back than having you find out that way.” His hands clenched into fists. “I let my guard down…” the rest of whatever he intended to say died on his lips as they trembled in a silent sob for a brief moment.

She took one step in his direction, causing him to straighten his back and only barely acknowledge her from the corner of his eye. “Do not come near me. I do not need your pity.”

“It isn’t pity, not when it hurts me to see you suffering.”

“Whatever it is you think we had was just a misunderstanding Miss Young. You are my boss’s daughter and I am your manager. I think we’ve let this fool’s errand carry on long enough.”

His words were bitter and cold, glacial in the air between them.

“Just go back home and have a good cry and hate me, you’ll see that I’m no good for you. And in time, you’ll thank me for sparring you.”

Truth was, she was on the verge on taking that advice. But Samara Young never quit when a friend was in need.

“No.” she stated flatly.

At last, he turned around. In that moment, she wished he hadn’t.

His eyes, once the thing her dreams were made of, had suddenly become daggers of ice that penetrated straight to her heart. Even his “disapproving” glare in the elevator after the meeting with Demetre Harris held more warmth than the one truly aimed at her with purposeful disdain. When he took the first step towards her, she shivered and stepped backwards, bumping into the fireplace. She caught herself before she could fall and up righted as he closed the distance.

“You come to my home, late in the evening, and then have to nerve to defy me when I have clearly stated that you are making a serious mistake. Just who do you think you are? You cannot pout your way through every argument and expect to win.”

“I-I wanna know why.” She fumbled her hands together. “What happened?”

“Like it matters.” He heaved a defeated sigh, slumping his shoulders and turning away from her once again. “I still haven’t learned from my mistakes…and I’ll be damned if I put you through them.”

“It’s not like I expected you to never have had a girlfriend…Ok? I mean, you’re older, you’ve already…had experiences…but you never once mentioned her or hardly anything about your life…How was I to know?”

“There are some that know.” He answered stoically. “Office gossip always spreads when it’s dirty little secrets. I assumed it had already had its round about the water cooler.”

“Well it didn’t, ok? And excuse me for being a little freaked out when you said I reminded you of her. Like how do you expect a girl to feel?”

Her words froze him in place. He slowly turned around, seeing that she had taken the ‘power stance’ he had taught her. Oh what a good girl, standing straight, hands on hips, feet parted…

“You make a valid point Miss Young.”

“And stop calling me that!” she shouted, her hands suddenly clenched and arms pinned to her sides. “We’re not at work! We’re supposed to be friends! And I know you’re doing it to distance yourself from me!”

“Distance is best for us.” He replied. “You already know how you affect me, and I can’t let you use that here. You’re still everything I said you were to me, but I cannot be the one for you.”

“You don’t even know what I want…” she quivered, trying to act tough.

He rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. “Oh but I do. You’ve put me on this pedestal, thinking I’m perfect, that I walk through life with nary a care. What you see is what I make everyone see, so that when the day is done and I come home, I can shed that outer layer and just be my miserable self.” 

Her eyes watered at this new side of Charles Jones that she had never seen. He was miserable, alone, bitter… He was shrouded in darkness. Was this truly the same man that cradled her chin and said she was worth the trouble just twelve hours earlier?

“So was it all a lie then? Another manipulation? Everything you ever said about me, to me? I’m worth the trouble? I’m beautiful? A butterfly?” her voice cracked on the last one. “Why even bother training me then? You know I don’t even want the job.”

“I see so much potential in you Miss Young. Potential you can put forth into the career of your choice, because I want to see you succeed, even if it isn’t with your father’s company.”

Her arms came up to her shoulders, rubbing away the goosebumps despite standing so close to the heat the fireplace provided. “Yeah right.”

No, don’t do it Charles…that’s how you get sucked in…

He fought with himself, torn between his usual knee-jerk response to comfort her and the determination he was trying to maintain to remain firm.

She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it now…

“Damnit Samara, stop this.” He ordered, watching her flinch yet again.

God Damn It.

“I’m here because I want to understand you. If you would just tell me things about yourself…if you’d let me-”

“What don’t you understand? I’m putting an end to this. Tomorrow we wipe the slate clean and start anew. Manager and assistant, as it should be.”

Her heart broke with every word of that last sentence.

“Why?” she whispered, no longer holding back the tears as they clung to her lashes.

“That. That right there.” He answered, pointing to his own eye, indicating to her. “You shouldn’t be shedding tears over me.”

As much as she hated it about herself, her tendency to cry was far too strong, carried on by those “emotional” genes in her family, and despite all the other times when she clearly was and he had been so kind to wipe them away, there was no denying it now. And he wasn’t offering a handkerchief this time.

“Call another cab and go home Miss Young. Do not come back here again.”

His words resonated in the heavy silence as he stepped back into his kitchen, back turned to her. He couldn’t bear to look at her any longer or he’d lose the last bit of strength he had in himself. He winced when heard that little sniffle escape her, however much she tried to hold it in as she took one last glance in his direction, his back slightly trembling but he never once turned around.

Sam knew she was being shut out, pushed away, closed off, ghosted…whatever phrase it was didn’t even begin to describe how awful it felt. Especially from someone she had admired, respected, and even dared dream about. It was a long walk through that hallway, across the foyer, and crossing the threshold of his door. Part of her wanted to slam it, vent that frustration out in the most primal fashion, but she was bigger than that.

It closed with a gentle click behind her, the sound much like the one his heart made.

He counted ten long seconds after hearing the door shut before he erupted with a primal growl, grabbing the tumbler and hurling it against the kitchen wall in an explosion of glass shards. He sank to the floor, sobbing pitifully as he raked his hands through his hair, hard enough to rip follicles out by the handful as his knees pulled up to his chest.  
He’d been a damn fool, assuming his failed marriage was office gossip.

Mother always said “never assume, because it makes an ass out you and me” and boy had she been right. It was more than a cute phrase to remember how to spell it, it was the absolute truth. What he took for granted had been a bombshell of epic proportions, to the one person whose opinion mattered the most to him.

How could she trust herself to someone like him who had already proven he was a failure at providing stability? She was right to question the integrity of his intentions, her future, her dreams if he couldn’t make her feel provided for. Wasn’t that what a man promised to a woman? And he had already failed once.

He hadn’t been enough then, how could he be now?

\--Gweneth was right to leave me…she must’ve detected it in me somehow, something I couldn’t see in myself…--

\--How could I think that Samara would be able to handle such a flawed man as myself? She only sees the good in people…she only sees what I’ve let her see…--

\--She believes I’m prefect…all I’ve ever shown anyone is a man so well put together, the pressed suits, not a hair out of place, always on top of every task…--

\--But I’m far from perfect…so far…--

He dragged his hands along his face, wincing at the spot where her head bunt had caught his left cheek. There was only one thing that could soothe the ache in his chest, that brittle crumbling his heart felt and that was to kill it with fire. He pulled himself up to his feet and stepped around the crystalline shards of glass twinkling along the polished kitchen floor and took the neck of the bottle in hand. He dragged his feet to the stairway and plopped on the third step, his long legs extended and feet flat on the floor as he uncorked the top and swung it back in a fiery gulp. 

A drink for every memory.

A drink for every mistake.

Until there was nothing left to drink….

………………….


	2. Regret...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles walks into work only to discover that Sam has all but quit her job and Samuel Young puts his on the line with the order to fix what he broke.

Pushing open the door to the office, Charles took in one last breath and prayed his Work Mode face showed not one ounce of the trepidation he felt. Not to mention the hangover he was nursing. There hadn’t been enough scotch left in the bottle to completely drown his demons.

Upon approaching Lucy’s desk, he expected a smile and friendly greeting from the overly optimistic redhead with owl-eye round glasses. Today though, he was met with tight lips, furrowed brows, and a flat tone as she acknowledged his greeting.

“Mr. Young said he wanted to see you first thing.” She informed him.

He inwardly groaned. This was the last thing he needed.

“Please inform Miss Young when she arrives that-”

“She’s not coming in.” she interrupted. She didn’t look happy about that, as if she knew the reason.

“Ahh.” He replied awkwardly. “Well then I should see to Mr. Young then…” He turned away from the receptionist desk and down the path that led to the CEO’s office, all the while his mind reeling with what he was possibly facing.

He braced himself for entry with a crisp knock, flinching just a bit with the heavy ‘come in’ that barked from the other side of the door. This was not going to bode well.

Samuel Young sat behind his desk, a scowl on his face, one normally reserved for Charles but especially darker today. It made Charles feel as if he were a young boy facing the headmaster in school, his legs momentarily frozen just mere feet inside the office.

“Close the door.” He was ordered. And he did.

He came up to the desk, unsure if he would even be allowed to sit. Samuel Young was a man known for his emotional outbursts, and he’d been having them more recently with his wife’s extended work schedule. The man was having separation anxiety and Charles was a familiar target for venting.

He doubted though, that what was about to be thrown at him had anything to do with Mrs. Young. Especially with what happened last night between him and Samara.

“Do you care to explain why my daughter called me this morning, saying she was using her allotted vacation days and taking some time away from work, just out of the blue?” he asked—no--demanded was more correct to describe the vehemence barely contained.

Charles was held in suspense for a moment, opened his mouth to speak but was silenced as the man continued.

“She claims that she needs time to consider her options and that you are better suited for this job than she. Just what the hell did you say to her Jones?” Samuel bellowed, slamming his hands flat on his desktop, rattling the container of pens and computer monitor.

For once, Charles did not a quick reply, a smart retort, his unphased façade rendered useless from the pounding in his temples and the thundering of his heart in his chest. He stood stupidly, blinking several times, just trying to register what it was Samara had said, and what she had chosen not to say. He still had his head on his shoulders, though not for much longer by the murderous look in his boss’s eye.

“T-there might’ve been a misunderstanding…” he began.

“Whatever it is, you better fix this, or it will be your job. And just so you know I mean it this time, I’ve already printed up the papers. All it requires is my signature and you’re gone.” The big man stated in a calmer, more terrifyingly clear tone, pushing a sheet of paper across his desk for the Welsh to see.

He’s never done this before….He means it this time….

“Certainly sir.” He replied, regaining his composure. He was dismissed with a scowl, his tail tucked firmly between his legs as he walked with feigned dignity, strolling past Lucy’s desk and down the hallway to his office. He stopped, looking at Samara’s door; shut, the light off. Much like she was with him.

Had he not told her to leave his home and go cry? Did he really expect her to be so composed to be able to come to work today? He’d pushed hard enough, and now she was gone.

He entered his office and plopped his briefcase down, loosened his tie, ran his hands through his hair and sank into his desk chair in defeat. Did he really expect for things to be so easy? Of course not; it never was. He’d let himself get carried away on an assumption and made a fucking fool of himself.

\--I should’ve known…--

\--How do I keep fucking this up?--

\--What’s wrong with me?--

\--Why can’t I get this right?--

He exhaled, pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked back the threat of tears. He couldn’t lose his shit here, not so damn early in the day. For the time being, he still held his position as General Manager, and there were e-mails and calls to make, client meetings to schedule, production to oversee and so on.

But, he should at least try calling her. Given their weekly routine, she should be awake still. He pulled up her number, pressing the call icon. It rang once, twice, then went straight to voicemail.

He cleared his throat. “Samara, I’m at the office and wish to speak with you, do call me back when you get this.”

With a click the recording was over and his day began.  
……………………..

Last Night:

By the time Sam made it up the three flights of stairs, she rendered herself exhausted with crying and trying to tackle the steps two at a time. She leaned her forehead against her door and wept again, taking her glasses off so as not to scratch them. She had forgotten how well sound carried in the empty concrete corridor, unaware she had aroused attentive ears to her plight.

A gentle hand fell upon her shoulder, startling her into a choked shriek, tossing her glasses into the air with fright. A voice repeated over and over again, begging her to calm down, pulling her into a hug. With her vision blurred beyond all sight, she had no choice but to trust the voice and the broad chest she was pressed against. 

“Come on, you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He said, leading her just a few feet away from the known location of her door.

“My glasses…” she was able to say.

“We’ll get them, after you sit down.” He reassured her. She heard his door swing open and two male voices inquire as she was led to a chair and assisted to sit. “Hey, you two make yourself useful and go find her glasses, she dropped them.” He ordered at his guests.

“Right away amigo.” A cheerful, familiar accented voice replied.

She felt a glass of water be pressed into one hand, a wad of yanked off-the-roll toilet paper in the other to take care of her tears. She dabbed her eyes and started making shapes in the environment around her. It didn’t take a genius to know she was in her neighbor’s apartment, although it was still unfamiliar to her.

“No Bueno.” Dean stated, holding two halves of a pair of glasses for Marshall to see.

“Give those here, you fool.” The other male voice ordered, his blurry shaped nothing but dark colors and what she guessed was blue hair. “Marshall, you have a tiny Phillip’s screwdriver right?”

“What happened?” she asked with a sniff to hold back any further tears.

“That’s what I want to know. Are you ok?” Marshall came up to her, closer than he normally would, just so she could register his face.

“I’m fine.” She answered in a tiny voice.

“Liar.” He immediately said, not buying it for a second. “You’ve never come home this late, in tears no less. Now, do I need to call somebody or are you gonna tell me what’s got you so worked up?”

“I don’t want to be a bother. You’ve got guests.”

“Aww, the concern senorita, it’s touching, but honestly Marshall is right. You shouldn’t be alone like this, especially since you cannot even see.” Dean added to further Marshall’s point. “The wet blanket is working on your specs as we speak.”

Collin snorted in disdain at the unflattering nickname as he carefully removed the lens from the frames. “Hey Romeo, be useful and get me some wire and electrical tape.”

Having nothing else to do but stand around and look pretty, he resigned himself to being Collin’s lackey as he called for tools and supplies he just somehow knew Marshall had laying among his desk and watched with minor fascination as he began restructuring the girl’s glasses. Marshall on the other hand, had comforted Sam enough for her to share some details of her troubles.

“Oh? I thought you two were already a thing…” he admitted sheepishly.

“What makes you say that?” she asked, her eyes now dry and seeing just a bit clearer. 

Marshall shrugged. “I dunno. I mean he seemed really protective with you when your paramedic friend arrived.” He answered. “Looking back on that moment, it gets a little clearer now. But Monica also said you had a hot date and she mentioned he had an accent and it’s someone you work with.”

“Oh….” Was all she had to say. It was hard to refute that assumption.

“But what’s got you so upset that he was once married? I mean, he’s not now, right?” he continued. “So should it really matter?”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that. That’s a big deal, a really big step for someone to take…”

Marshall inhaled with a thought of contemplation. “You know, lots of couples…they’re not always each other’s first…but that doesn’t mean that they can’t experience something for the first time together…you know what I mean?”

She brushed hair away from her face. “But… that person… are they going to feel the same, like they did before? Is it going to…well I don’t know…not feel as important as the first time?”

He shook his head. “Sam, that’s not how it works. When you meet someone, even if it’s the very first guy or the fifth, you’re going to feel whatever it is you feel for them, and they’re going to feel what they do for you, and together, what you have together will be just yours.”

“I think you’re confusing her compadre.” Dean laughed, arms crossed as he watched Collin fiddle around more with his task. “Senorita, if he’s come forward and told you that he’s divorced and has shown interest in you, then that’s all you need to know. He put himself out there for you to accept him.”

“You don’t understand, he thought I already knew about that. And I kinda freaked out. And before we could say anything further, Lucy knocked on the door and we panicked.” She explained, aiming her gaze at the red shirt and dark skin that made the figure of Dean. “We split into two different directions and after she left, he told me I should get back to work. We didn’t say anything further to each other all day….and I finally gathered the nerve to go to his place to talk...he was so mad at me…” her voice cracked and her lips trembled at the memory, bringing her hands up to hide her face in shame.

Marshall rubbed her back in comfort as she jammed more wadded toilet paper into her tear ducts. “Ok, I think maybe you should just take some time away from this situation. Call in tomorrow and give yourself some breathing room.”

“Call in?” she sniffed.

He nodded. “Yeah. Give yourself a break kid, if he wants to push you away, then actually ‘go away’ and see if he likes it.”

“Eureka!” Collin declared with victory, marching around the countertop and presenting her repaired glasses to her. With shaking hands she put them on, her gift of sight returned.

“What did you do?” she asked, blinking and looking around. She felt the frame of them, but if she removed them to inspect she’d render herself visionless again.

“Well, rather than just tape the bridge, which is temporary, I strengthened the frame with wire and bound it with the electrical tape, then rescrewed the screws back in. This should last you a few days until you can replace them.” Collin stated with pride, pushing his glasses up his nose in anime fashion.

“Thanks…uh…Cullen?” she guessed.

“Collin.” He corrected, slumping his shoulders and slunking away back over to a chuckling Dean who patted his back in sympathy.

She stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of her shirt. “Ok, thank you guys. I’m gonna go now.” She was still wearing the billowy purple sweater shirt and black pants that she had worn to work and was ready to shed off anything that reminded her of Charles for the moment.

“I’ll walk you to your door.” Dean offered, coming up to meet her. She smiled and accepted his company, waving a goodnight to the other two before crossing the threshold of his doorway. Three steps later, she was at her door.

“What a walk.” He declared, feigning an exasperated sigh for her amusement. It did earn a slight giggle.

“Thank you Dean, all of you guys actually.”

“It’s no problem. Especially for a sweet senorita like you.” He took hold of her hand and brought it up to his lips. She froze as he laid a gentle kiss across her knuckles.

“Uhhhh….”

“If things don’t work out this Charles, there are plenty of other fish out there.” He said with a wink and turned on his heel back to Marshall’s apartment, turning back in time to see she slip into her doorway and out of sight.  
…………………………

It had been extremely difficult to concentrate on the most minimal of tasks. Not with the threat of his termination looming over his head like the blade of guillotine. Not without the assistant he’d grown accustomed to having, ready and able to handle most things he’d ask of her, especially with the occasional cup of coffee and a smile on her face.

A day without Samara was proving most counterproductive to his usual routine of professionalism. Each hour he’d pick up his annoyingly bright pink phone and send a new text message, only to see that his previous was indicated as unread.

TEXT 1: Samara we need to discuss what happened yesterday

TEXT 2: I am sorry I said the things I did. I wish to apologize

TEXT 3: Ignoring your phone is a childish way to handle this, can we not speak like adults?

TEXT 4: Fine then, I’m coming to your place after work.

He sighed. I’m acting like a fucking idiot again, aren’t I?

His eyes cast off to a point on his wall and found himself chewing his bottom lip. Wincing in pain, he brought his hand up in reaction, pulling away with a little smudge of blood on them. How many times had he seen Samara nibble away at that plump little lip of hers without so much as a tear of skin? And here he couldn’t even do it right without fucking it up. 

With bitter office coffee and a barely eaten lunch as the only things sustaining him through the day, he figured he’d kill two birds with one stone and stop at the Daily Grind, the little coffee shop she had purchased coffee for him just the other day. It was also remarkably close to her apartment.

It surprised him to see her paramedic friend behind the counter, his apron doing little to cover his massive chest as the kid looked like he could shred off his shirt without much effort. But the kid remembered him, smiling a greeting as he asked what he’d like to order.

He ordered a hot Earl Grey for himself, a ham Panini, and then asked him what Samara usually drank.

Link arched an eyebrow. It was odd hearing her true name spoken, especially by someone he barely knew. He answered with the exact preferred shots of flavor and type of milk, only for him to add it to his order. “She usually gets this in the morning, but she didn’t today.”

“Which is why I’m bringing one to her now that the day is done.” Charles replied.

With the to-go order in hand, he left without another word. Link didn’t have much time to contemplate why this felt off as he had other customers to tend to, and it was eventually pushed from his mind.

Charles took a bite of the sandwich, reveling in the taste, texture, and temperature as it soon filled him with warmth and energy. He pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex and finished the makeshift meal, brushing crumbs off his shirt before exiting and carrying the hot drinks up the three flights and to her door. He cradled them carefully in one arm as he knocked.

After a moment, he knocked louder, this time announcing himself.

Again there was just silence.

Growing frustrated, he literally pounded, almost spilling the hot liquid in their foam cups. With a grunt, he set them down on the floor and stood, knocking again.

“Dude, she’s not here.”

Charles turned, seeing Benjamin stick his head out from his apartment door. “I’m bout to record, so ya think ya can stop trying to break her door down?”

“Where is she?”

Marshall shrugged. “Hell if I know. Her two girlfriends came over this morning, she and Bowser left with them.”

“She left no note?”

“Why should she leave a note?” Marshall caught a glimpse of desperation in the Welsh, knowing he’d been right to tell Sam to leave. It hadn’t even been a whole day and the man was literally at her doorstep.

“I need to speak with her.” Charles stated, his patience worn thin by the day’s aggravations. 

Leaning against the frame of his doorway, Marshall crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “Ya got her number?”

“Of course I do!” Charles snapped.

“Dude…”

Sucking in a breath of exasperation he took a moment to collect himself. “I have tried calling. I have sent texts. And now I am here. I’ve done all I can to reach her. Now, if you have an inkling as to where she may be, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“I’m getting the feeling she might not wanna talk to ya.” The gamer said nonchalantly, enjoying the color in the other man’s face blossom into a frustrated crimson.

“That is precisely WHY I am trying to reach her. There’s been a misunderstanding I need to rectify.”

“You told her to go home.” Marshall stated, his joyful demeanor gone, replaced with a cold glare. “You told her to cry and hate you. And she did. Came here in such a state that she broke her glasses and was a wreck.”

Charles felt an icy trickle down his spine as his words were thrown back at him.

“So no, Charles. I’m not going to help you find her. I’m not going to let you hurt her again. She’s too nice a girl, and you…I thought you were better than that.”

Before he could respond, the door had been closed.

“Now wait a minute Benjamin, I’m trying to fix this!” Charles hollered to an empty corridor. But there was no one to listen, even if they had wanted to.

Even without his career on the line, he knew deep within that he had fucked up last night and wanted to apologize, he wanted to make it up her to her, somehow. He wanted to find her and fall upon his sword and beg her forgiveness, to take hold of those tiny hands of hers and feel them upon his chest once more.

More than anything, he just wanted to see her face, those beautiful eyes that had such pull with him.

But she was gone, and he had no idea whereas to even look.  
……………………..


	3. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With options running low, Charles is at his wits end trying to reach Samara. All he can do is hope, but will it be enough?

Defeated and exhausted, Charles dragged himself back to his penthouse. He slipped off his jacket, unbuttoned his vest and loosened his tie before entering the hallway to retrieve the broom and dustpan. There was still a mess of shattered glass from the night before to sweep up. He’d barely woke with time to dress in the morning and was in no condition to bend low and collect the smattering of lead crystal with how his head pounded.

Not that it felt much better, but at least the nausea subsided with the sandwich he’d had the common sense to grab. He cursed himself for leaving his tea behind. Was there anything else he could fuck up in splendid fashion? Given that there was still six hours until midnight, chances were still high.

Now that at least one mess in his life was cleaned up he pulled out his phone and attempted to call her again.

It went straight to voicemail.

“Mae Duw yn ei ddamnio.” He muttered as he listened to the recording. “Samara, would you please return my call so that I may explain myself? I’d rather not have to play phone tag.”

He kept his phone with him as he trudged up the stairs and into the bathroom to shower, dressed in pajamas, and ate a meager dinner as he racked his brain to where she could be possibly be. Surely, she would’ve at least contacted her father and told him she was with her friends? But where was she going to spend her time during the day while everyone was at work? The library? The mall? 

It surprised him that he had not much to go on about her personal life. After all, they’d spent such little time with each other outside of the office that he was faced with the bitter realization that they were virtually strangers. Was this attraction he had for her merely based on what he saw of her in the office?

No. He remembered how she lit up while discussing Ruminate, how lively and passionate she was with a subject she was in complete control of. If only she could’ve seen herself, she was glowing that night…

His little butterfly…

And he let her fly away.  
……………………………

The following morning came with a sense of dread as he entered the office again. Lucy at least wasn’t glaring at him, but she wasn’t fully chipper as usual. He made his way to his office and sat at his desk, another day of work ahead of him to tackle alone.

Funny, it had only been just a few weeks ago that this was his normal, but now it felt so hollow. The room felt darker, colder, and much smaller. His workload was increased in her absence and although he’d been proficient with it all before, it seemed so overwhelming to handle by himself. 

Any second, he expected to hear that gentle knock and see her standing in the doorway, chestnut hair pulled back in a little bun, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, her luscious lips set in a nervous pout as she contemplated her self-love exercise for the day. She’d taken his advice with the office attire and produced stunning outfits that accentuated every hidden curve she possessed under those once large and loose sweaters.

He recalled how everyone would always have a warm greeting for her when she entered the building, she waving and smiling and addressing every person by name. She was beloved by the entire staff, even those not working in their department. Miss Samara Young of Young Technologies, the company’s princess in more ways than one. And without her usual smile and warm presence, it was just another technology center in the heart of Silicon Valley. 

He eventually crossed paths with Samuel in the break room as he fought with the coffee marker, struggling more than one human should with trying to set the filter basket in place and all but giving up when the CEO walked in.

“Jones.” Came the usual curt greeting.

“Sir.” He replied, fiddling with the basket until it finally slid in and locked in place. “Finally.” He sighed with relief.

“Have you been able to talk with Sam?” her father inquired, setting his empty mug by the machine.

“I have not. She may have kept her phone on silent and never heard my attempts to call.”

“Need I remind you that your job hangs in the balance here?”

“Sir, with all due respect, it would be a crippling blow to the company to fire the general manager over the loss of an assistant for you would lose two positions of power and would need to bring in and train a new one who may not run things according to your tastes, and could disrupt the work dynamic among the staff.”

The hiss and gurgle of the machine brewing its office nectar was the only sound for several long seconds as Samuel glared dark brown eyes at his infuriatingly correct manager, instead of his usual rigid posture, Charles slouched against the counter, looking almost humbled. For once, he wasn’t being smug and overly confident, he was just stating facts.

“I am trying to reach Miss Young, but it would appear she do not wish to hear from me. If you are in contact with her, perhaps you could convince her to hear me out?”

Samuel crossed his arms. “And why would I help you when I had nothing to do with whatever misunderstanding occurred?”

“Well sir, you want Miss Young to return to the office. You and I both know she gives this place life, and if you want her to continue her training to become your next CEO, then you will want the said person to remain in order to train her.”

The coffee maker sputtered.

“You always make a point.” The older man stated. “You always know just what to say in order to get what you want, don’t you?”

Charles cast his eyes at the black machine, watching the carafe fill. “Yes sir, I am well aware of that.” He replied with a guilt laden voice. “Sometimes I don’t know how to switch it off.”

“It makes you good at what you do. I have to admit, you are the best manager this company has had, but don’t let that go to your head.”

Beep!

Charles pulled the carafe out of the machine and poured the fresh black brew into his boss’s mug, then his own.

“This company would be more enjoyable to work for if my job wasn’t threatened every other week.” He added cream and sugar to his, stirring it into a milky tan color.

“Convince my daughter to return and I’ll shred those papers.”  
…………………..

But how to find someone who didn’t want to be found?

Avoiding texts, calls, and her own home was a clear message that she didn’t want to hear from him. And the one person who had even the vaguest idea of where she went was being uncooperative. 

Oh but he did have a card to play with that one.

It was a dirty move, but if Benjamin was going to stall his quest, then he’d have to use some good old fashioned “You Owe Me” favor to pull.  
……………………….

Straight from the office back to her apartment complex, marching right up those stairs, giving her door a good pounding just to see if maybe, just maybe she might actually be there, only to be met with silence again. Just as he figured. He then in turn attacked Benjamin’s door with the same vigor until it swung open. Benjamin slouched in the frame, one eyebrow arched, cheeks filled and moving as he chewed from the half eaten veggie burger in his hand. 

“Ya don’t give up, do ya?” he smacked once he had enough space in his mouth to form words. “So what’s it this time?”

“I did not want to have to play this card, but Benjamin, you leave me little choice.” Charles stated with just a hint of guilt. “But I saved your life, and now I’m calling upon that debt.”

“Nani the fuck dude, for real?” he exclaimed, truly taken by surprise. “You can’t do that to me man.”

“I can and I will.” Charles affirmed. Enough pussyfooting around.

Marshall raked his hand through his hair. “Man you got me in a tight position here. I’m gonna feel like I betrayed her.” He huffed out a breath and gave up. “Ok look, I don’t know exactly where they live, but I do have the business card for the yoga studio that her friend Vikki teaches. I just started going to her classes.”

“That’s something I can work with.”

While Marshall excused himself to go get the card, Charles heaved a sigh and cast his eyes in a bored manner, having them fall upon the abandoned to-go cups from the Daily Grind still waiting by her door. Just another good intention that went to waste. He barely had time to contemplate collecting the soured drinks before Marshall returned and handed him the business card. “Ok dude, my debt has been paid up.”

Charles eyes the rectangle of cardstock in his hand. “How will I know who to speak with there?”

“Vikki has really long dark hair, hangs over half her face. Really soft voice, slim build. Angela on the other hand…” he whistled with exasperation. “Can’t miss that red hair, or her mouth. She’ll kill you if you look at her wrong. Well, good luck!” He swooped his hand up with a chipper thumbs up and glittering smile, sending Charles off to his fate.

He wasted no time in driving to the studio, seeing as there was still time left in the business hours marked on the card. The abstract styled white structure was not what he envisioned for a yoga and meditation center, but it did have a sense of tranquility to it, away from the busy streets and high rises. After passing the gate and its corridor set with tall and narrow windows that gave view to the outdoor meditation area he found a sign indicating the yoga room.

Class still being in session, he merely stood at the door so as not disturb the others, he looked around and settled on the lithe form of a dark haired woman with her mat spaced further away from the rest, standing in some complex form that he couldn’t imagine getting into comfortably and her students emulating to the best of their ability.

There was no sign of an angry looking redhead or his little brunette Bunty to his dismay, but there was no turning back with his favor called and this being the only clue to lead him to Samara. It did not take long for her to conclude today’s lesson and the hustle and bustle began with people wiping down and rolling up their mats, stretching, and slipping their feet into shoes.

He chose now to enter, slipping in relatively unnoticed as the crowd began to disperse. The woman, Vikki, had just finished wiping down her mat and rolled it up, setting it into the mat box with all the rest when he cleared his throat. She turned around, a serene smile upon her face.

“Are you looking for someone?” she inquired with a birdsong like voice.

“I am. Victoria Willow Song?”

“That’s me. What can I do for you? I’m afraid class has already wrapped up for the day.”

“I am not here for yoga, but rather a more personal matter.” He explained, choosing his words carefully. He could tell this woman had a certain air about her. It would do him no good to deal with false pretenses. “I believe we share a mutual acquaintance, named Samara Young?”

The eye not covered by her silky dark hair widened ever so slightly.

“There are not many that call her that.” She all but whispered as she tilted her head a little to the side. “You must be someone of importance to her.”

“My name is Charles Jones, and I am the manager of Young Technologies. In other words, her boss.”

She responded with a slow nod of acknowledgment. 

He laid his cards out. “Miss Song, I am trying with every resource I have to reach her. And I was informed that she left with you and another friend. Could I dare ask you to convince Miss Young to respond to my calls?”

She brought a hand up to her mouth in contemplation. The few last people milling about made their exit, with her waving goodbye. The room had emptied. “She was quite upset with you, and she told us what you said to her.”

“I see…” he cast his eyes down.

“But I sense you’re hurting more than she is.”

Startled, he brought his line of vision up. “I…am…” he finally confessed, feeling just a little of his burden lift from his shoulders. “And I regret every word I said to her. I need her to know this.”

“I can relay the message, but I cannot guarantee it’ll be enough to change her mind.” She replied, just wondering if she could be convincing enough.

“At this moment, it’s more than I could hope for.”

Vikki began leading them back to the door, reaching for it at the same time Charles did, their hands skimming across each other’s in the span of an instant. For Vikki though, every millisecond crawled by with glaringly painful clarity as the hairs along her arm stood on end and shivered up her spine like an electrical current. A shocking gasp escaped her lungs as she wavered, grasping onto the door to catch her from falling.

Charles naturally reached for her to assist but she waved him off, her head reeling from the overwhelming wave of emotions cascading upon her. She felt nausea, beat down, betrayed, and broken in so many ways that she didn’t know who she was for a moment, lost in it all.

“Miss Song? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine…” she pleaded more to herself than to him, forcing herself to regain control. Normally an encounter with someone did not leave such a residual effect but this man carried an overabundance of pain within him. “It must’ve been…a static shock…” she weakly explained. “Forgive me; I’m just a little sensitive to those things.”

He didn’t have to be a manipulative genius to clearly see she was lying, at least about her own well-being. She was taken in with a tremor, a bead of sweat across her brow, and her hand clenched onto her stomach for dear life. No static shock he’d ever received had left him like that. “I’m terribly sorry.” He said, somehow convinced it was his fault. 

“Goodness Charles…no wonder…” she whispered to herself. She breathed in and stood her full height, her composure returned, if only temporary. She couldn’t fake it for long.

“Come on.” She urged, signaling to the door, allowing him to open for her. She took the lead as they followed the long corridor, the view outside providing a small sense of tranquility as she strolled on bare feet towards the entrance where she retrieved her discarded shoes. “Tell me, what do you feel for her?”

Normally, a man pressed with that question would have an answer on his lips, ready to tell it to the world whether it was asked or not. But Charles withheld that response. “It is complicated to explain Miss Song. I know what she makes me feel…I have said so to her face…but it is not easy for me so say so casually.”

“I think that you need to come to a conclusion about your past first.” She stated, catching him off guard.

“My past? What do you…?”

They exited the main doors and stepped out into the Californian evening. The early hint of dusk was on the horizon. “You’re a good man; I know you truly cherish her. But you’re letting a previous pain prevent you from moving forward. And you cannot expect Sam to handle that baggage. You need to let it go.”

The man sighed. Hadn’t he been trying that for years now?

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with me Miss Song.” He turned to his vehicle, hand at the door. “And I apologize for earlier.”

She acknowledged his words with a soft nod. She watched him get into his car and drive off, knowing the man meant well, despite the bitter argument between him and her beloved friend. Despite all his insecurities and pain, he still held onto hope. Only after he had disappeared from view was she able to release the current flow of new emotions swimming in her blood, running to the side of the building and holding onto the wall as she vomited, tears pouring down her cheeks as she felt a hot rod stab through her chest and twist. 

This was a pain of betrayal. Of a trust forever lost. Of promises broken.

How a once innocent love had turned a heart cold, frozen for years.

And how a man carried that burden with him every day for years on end without going mad was beyond even her capacity to understand.


	4. Dream…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it possible to find your soulmate, even after you’ve gone through heartache?

There was a spotlight shining on them, the sole focus of the room. A moment later the music started, a popular love ballad, the keys of the piano crystal clear as the melody filled the room, camera flashes temporarily blinding them. No matter, he knew how to move his feet, to guide her along as he swept her across the floor, her ivory gown swishing with flourish. She was radiant, glowing, dazzling like a princess in his arms. 

He had promised to cherish her, love her, to be there in sickness and in health and he meant every word. He’d meant it before, but he was too naïve then to see evident cracks in the foundation he had built his dreams upon. This time was different. He knew what he was doing. He knew better. This time, things would end with a happy ending.   
This time, the hero married the princess.  
. . . . . . . . . . . .

Charles woke with smile on his face, his chest filled with that residual warmth from his dream, basking in the remnants of his imagination. Tame by comparison to some of his fleeting fantasies, yes, but far more fulfilling. When it came to Samara, they were always more fulfilling. She was all substance while the others were just flash in a pan.

He hoped that Vikki had been strong in her word of convincing Samara to reach out to him. He reached for the garishly colored phone of his and flicked his finger across the screen. No new messages or missed calls. Yet. The day was still young.

Was it Saturday already? God, this week dragged on. After all these days of scouring, chasing, hunting after her, there was still no time for slacking off. He threw his blanket off and hit the shower, picked a simple shirt and jeans to slip into. His hand rested on the golden band he always carried. With a heavy sigh, he stuffed it into the pocket on the left side. Hopefully, it would be one of the last times he continued this ritual.

Somehow, that yogi friend of hers had seen into him so clearly, knew that he was wrapped in a comfort blanket made of bitter memories and was still clinging on despite the lack of comfort it provided now. He had to shed the ratty old thing off if he was ever going to have a chance at happiness again…with Samara.

There was still his job to save, but most importantly he needed to prove to Mr. Young that he could indeed keep his word and uphold his trust, however little of it he had. Samuel Young had no idea how much his manager envied his life, not for the success of the company or the wealth he had amassed over the decades, but for the sacred bond he shared with his wife and the love he had for his children.

A man who had a beautiful loving wife and two intelligent, successful children was by far wealthier than a man who lived in a mansion made of gold. 

For a man who had never known his father, Samuel Young Sr. was the closest thing he had, being his mentor and employer. For the things he’d done and couldn’t take back, the relationship was strained at best, but the men acknowledged each other for their abilities in the office. Deep down, all Charles ever wanted was to be reassured he was doing the right thing.

The compliments were few and far in between, the hours long and duties numerous, but he made it through, year after year. Now, just a few weeks with the man’s daughter as his assistant and his whole world had been uprooted, his heart confused and his common sense failing him more often than not.

He’d never imagined that he’d be spending a Saturday morning driving all the way to his assistant’s apartment to stake it out in the hopes of catching her should she return, after of course, a quick stop for a hot Earl Grey and another Panini. Was he truly losing his damn mind? Some would definitely say so. Was he being a fool? Incredibly so.

\--At least convince her to not throw her career away just because of you; even if she’s decided she wants nothing to do with your ass. Do that if nothing else.--

The patience he’d mastered over the years paid off as the early hours gave way to afternoon.  
…………………..

Ping!

Sam glanced at her phone, readjusting her makeshift repaired glasses on her nose as she flicked it open. For once, it was not a message from Charles, but rather Amazon, informing her that her packaged had been delivered.

“Oh, my glasses have arrived. Crap, I forgot to type in this address, they’ve been sent back to my apartment.”

“No problem, we’ll take you. Besides, didn’t you want to get another pair of your shoes?” Angela said, reminding her that she had neglected to pack a spare and had lamented that her first night as she sifted through her quickly packed clothing for pajamas.

“Yeah, I guess.” She sighed. She worried that the sight of her apartment would trigger that knee-jerk response in her to stay, snuggled in her blanket in her bed where she felt safe and comfortable. But, with Charles knowing her address she wouldn’t past him to return at some point. So she made do with these past nights on her best friends’ sofa, binge watching movies or racking up scores in their vast video game library, and avoiding her phone at all costs.

She’d seen the text messages, the notification box showing the first few lines when her phone would ding. His messages had been brief, curt, matter-of-fact. Much like him. His voice messages varied from restrained anger to borderline emotional, but she had not yet decided to respond to him.

When Vikki told her he came to the studio, her eyes widened. How had he even discovered that? Damn, he was resourceful! It would only be a matter of time before he was beating down their apartment door. She sat her down and relayed what he had confessed to her, how he looked so downtrodden, and the emotions she felt with their accidental contact.

Sam sat with knees drawn up to her chest, listening as Vikki explained in sharp detail, taking it all in and mulling it over. As it seemed she was at the end, Vikki then went on to share some insight.

“Every now and then, a couple will argue and sometimes say awful things to each other. Most of the time, it is harmless and easily forgiven, the argument over trivial matters at best. Don’t tell me your parents never fought?”

Sam shrugged. It wasn’t something she had seen, not in the dramatic ways demonstrated in programs. Her parents had more reserved disagreements, barely raised voices. There was an occasion in which they didn’t speak to each other, but it only lasted two days and then they were right back to being lovey-dovey.

“While it is a blessing to be raised in such a loving, nurturing environment, it has also crippled your experience for facing that as an adult. Often, even the words are meaningless and it’s the passion built up that brings the two together. What he told you the other night, was not aimed at you directly, but at his own self. He believes he doesn’t deserve someone like you, based on his past failures.”

Sam cocked her head. “But…why would he want to be alone then?”

Vikki smiled sadly. “Sometimes, being alone is better than hurting someone else. That may be what he’s trying to do. If you really like him, you’re going to have to accept that he had a life before you, filled with all the decisions he made, good and bad, and how those have turned him into the man he is now.”

Sam fiddled with her glasses for a moment, and then put them back in place on her nose. “He’s always been kind to me. He said he believes in me, that I can do anything I put my mind to, as long as I have the confidence to do so….and he’s helped me gain some, every day we do this ‘self-love’ exercise. That night when we went out for dinner…” she let out a lovesick sigh. “He was…so sweet…”

“Sam, you like him. And he clearly likes you. But you both are hesitating.”

She nibbled her thumbnail. “I just don’t know what to do. Is it really enough to just like someone?”

“You like him enough to dream about him, right?” Vikki replied. “Dreams are a powerful tool we possess. There is much to be gleamed from our subconscious. And the more you dream of someone, the more your heart yearns for them. Like grows into Love, and with Love…anything is possible.”  
…………………………….

Promising to be quick, Sam exited Angela’s car and marched over to her postbox and unlocked her apartment’s little door in the locker unit that was her mailbox. Inside was the tiny package containing her new glasses. She pressed it to her chest in joy. Not that she didn’t appreciate that Cullen guy giving her pair a temporary patch, but the additional weight of the wire and tape had been off-putting just enough to be slightly annoying compared to its original weight.

Angela exited the car next, Bowser on a leash, letting him stretch his legs on his familiar turf, eliciting happy barks that roused the attention of a certain Welshman sitting in his car. Recognizing the dog immediately, he was certain Samara had returned to her apartment, however briefly. He knew he didn’t have much time.

Hiking up her usual three flights, Sam reached her apartment door. She noticed right away the two abandoned maroon cups from the Daily Grind with their cardboard collars to protect from the heat. Squatting low, she turned them around, seeing names written on each:

Sam.

Charles.

Her breath caught in her throat. He’d gone to her familiar coffee shop and paid for two drinks…and then…why leave them both here? In her reverie, she was unaware of the shadow that cast over her.

“Samara?” that unmistakable accented voice called out.

She wasn’t ready for that voice.

A shriek escaped her throat. Her package flew out of her hands. She fell backwards onto her bottom with a hard thunk, causing her to cry out a second time. All in the span of just a second the call for chaos ensued.

Hearing the terrified scream from her friend, Angela stopped suddenly, flung the leash off her wrist and dashed up the stairwell with alarming speed even before Vikki could step out of the car. Without breaking stride, she bounded up the stairs three at a time and came upon a scene that sent her into Protective Mode. An unknown man had approached Sam, her back up against her door, hand clutching her chest as she fought for breath.

“Hey fuckface!” she screamed at him, catching his attention before charging, fists at the ready and swinging towards him. His reflexes were quick, bringing his forearms up to shield his face and block the first punch but left his torso open enough for a left to the gut, shuffling him backwards a couple steps. He dodged another well aimed punch towards his face, but only marginally.

“Angela, stop!” Sam screamed, terrified for the both of them. She was well aware of what Angela could do, especially in her Berserker state. Her cries fell upon deaf ears as the firebrand shot a kick to his chest.

He caught the foot with both hands, one at the toe, the other at the heel and twisted it to the left. Going with the momentum, she jumped into a spin and shot her other leg at him with a back kick. He had enough training to see it coming and retreated from her reach as she landed on her feet. Never breaking pace, she again charged, only this time was stopped by the Good Samaritan throwing himself in the middle, arms spread wide, telling her to calm down.

“Out of the way Marshmallow or I will go through you.”

“Easy there, Killer, you don’t even know who this is.” He said, surprised at himself for turning himself into a human shield.

Dean and Collin had emerged from the apartment along with him; standing over by Sam in case she needed protecting, becoming a wall between her and the fight. She pushed past the two but stopped short of Angela’s reach, aware she could fling an arm faster than she could blink. Vikki was at Angela’s right like an apparition, Bowser tucked in one arm as she laid a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder. With soothing words and soft rubs, she had tamed the beast and pulled her back to her senses.

“Okay, is it safe for me to move now?” Marshall asked with a hint of nervousness to his voice. 

“Angela, this is Charles, Sam’s boss. He’s come to apologize.” Vikki clarified, her voice resonating throughout the corridor for all to hear. “I think we should let him have a moment.”

“Now wait a second, this is the guy?” Dean piped up, hooking his thumb at the tall blond man still standing behind the outstretched form of his martyring friend. He turned to Sam and took hold of her hand. “This is the one who made you cry?”

It did not go unnoticed by Charles who saw the moves the young Latino was laying on her. She bit her lip and looked around nervously, aware that everyone was indeed watching every move she made. She nodded, her heart pounding as she tried to find the words to say.

“Dude.” Marshall curtly inflicted with a tone much akin to the phrase ‘what the fuck’ as he put his arms down. “Really?”

As Charles began to step aside from his position behind Marshall, the ranks pulled again with Dean stepping in front of Sam and Angela moving to his side to stand guard.  
“This is ridiculous.” He exclaimed. “Can we please call off the guard dogs?”

“Did he just call me a bitch?” Angela declared, taking a fighting stance.

“I did nothing of the sort.” He immediately clarified, daring to take a step closer to the protective wall of friends. “Your loyalty and protectiveness is to be commended but it is a bit difficult to offer a sincere apology in this manner.”

“What do you say Sam? I call off mine and you call off yours?” Marshall joked, arms crossed as he watched his friend make a fool out of himself at the wrong moment. He knew Dean didn’t stand a chance, not like he could convince him otherwise.

“Guys, please.” Sam was finally able to say. “Can you all give us a minute?”

“Ok, that’s it guys, let’s go!” Marshall clapped. When Dean hesitated to move he pulled on his arm. “I said, let’s go dude.” He emphasized with gritted teeth. Collin bent down and picked up the dropped package and handed it to Sam.

“I hope you didn’t break this pair too.” He joked, giving the box a little shake.

She took it and gently shook it too. “Sounds fine. Thanks Cullen.”

“Collin.” He corrected with a dejected sigh and slunk back over to stand with Marshall and Dean.

“Sorry.”

Vikki set Bowser down whom happily pranced over to Charles and pawed at him for attention as she linked her arm with Angela’s and lured her a few feet away from their friend. “Come on now; let them have a few words. I promise he’s not going to do anything.” 

Now that there was space cleared between them, Charles knelt down and acknowledged the canine for a moment before getting back to his feet again, a hand on his gut with a brief wince. Marshall wasn’t kidding about the ginger lass and he doubted he would’ve been able to gain the upper hand without intervention.

Sam spoke first.

“Are you alright?”

Charles couldn’t help but smile, her concern for others always so endearing. “I’ve been put through far worse if you recall.” He answered, hearkening back to the fencing bruises. She nodded, nibbling her lip, remembering that day all too well. That rainy day lunch, the first time she’d ever since his hair loose and wet, the closeness between them as she touched that firm chest and sent him reeling in pain…followed by that first of many cheek caresses….

She felt her own cheeks blossom.

“I’m sorry I ignored all your calls.”

“Don’t be. I deserved it. I deserve to hear you scream at me and say you never want to see me again. I deserve…no kindness…”

She felt her eyes well up at how broken he sounded. “N-no, that’s not true.” She proclaimed, stepping up to him. “No one should feel that way.” Automatically, her hand was coming up to his chest, slowly, trembling ever so slightly. She hesitated to touch him. The moment she retracted, he reached and gently grasped it.

“Please don’t let what I said make you leave the company. Do not throw away your career because of my moment of weakness and stupidity. Even if you wish to not work with me, do not let me be the reason you don’t succeed. I’ll resign even…”

“No, don’t do that.” She pleaded with her eyes big and glistening. “The place wouldn’t be the same without you; no one knows how to do everything that you do!”

He placed her hand on his chest. “No Samara, the place is not the same without you.” He clarified. “Every day I have felt your absence, the memory of you haunting me with every step in every hallway…. You make that place worth going to every morning.”

Bowser, feeling neglected by the Welshman and his mommy, sauntered back over to the girls for Vikki to pick him up and hand him over to Angela. She looked at Vikki with a question in her eyes, and was met with a knowing gaze. It’d be harder for her to attack if her arms were already filled with precious cargo.

Gazing down at her, Charles took in the detail of her current pair of glasses. “Goodness, what is this?” he chuckled, gently slipping them off her face. They had been reinforced with wire and electrical tape.

“Hey, I’d like to see you do better.” Collin snapped. “You’re the reason they’re even broken.”

The retort brought Charles back to the realization that they had an audience, and the majority of it didn’t like him. He noticed the little package held in Samara’s other arm and put the two together. He handed the eyewear back to her and took the package in exchange. He ran his thumbnail across the tape but it didn’t split thoroughly. Contemplating his next move, he was surprised when Dean extended an arm with a closed pocket knife offered.

“Here.” He said begrudgingly, not doubt with urging from Benjamin.

“Thank you.” He replied, flicking the blade open and sliding it across the seal. He pulled back the flaps and slid the blade across more tape that secured the bubble wrap. In a quick moment he had closed the blade, handed it back to its owner and removed the plastic bundle. Unfurling the wrap, he produced the new pair of glasses, this time with a silver frame.

Like Prince Charming offering Cinderella the glass slipper, he presented the shiny little pair to Samara, who slipped off her damaged set and replaced them with the brand new ones. Instantly, her face brightened as she already felt better having them on.

“They look fantastic.” He replied, taking the box and discarded old pair from her. She turned her head left and right for the others to see, receiving the nods of approval and thumbs up and murmured compliments.

“I’ll take that.” Vikki offered, hands out for the box. Charles was relieved for the assistance.

“Now, about your job…” he continued.

“I’ll come back.” She immediately said.

“You don’t have to on my account, but only if you wish to. I do still stand by what I said.”

“Don’t quit.” She begged, hands clasped together. “Let’s just agree to be professional. Young Tech needs you.”

A warm smile spread across his face.

“I-I still need you…” she stuttered. “T-to teach me…things.”

The smile curled into a smirk. “Of course Samara, if that is what you wish. I’ll stay.” He took hold of both her little hands and pulled them in towards his self. “The prospect of having to find employment elsewhere honestly terrifies me.”

Same.

In the days she had taken off, she thought of checking out applications but the moment she opened the search engine her nerve failed her and she shut the laptop, picking up a game controller instead. All the process of having to talk to new people, explain who she was, convince strangers to give her a chance was just too much for her to take.

“Will you be honest with me?” she inquired, watching his eyes light up.

“That is all I ever want to be, despite how ugly the truth can be at times.” He answered, giving her hands a little reassuring squeeze.

“Did you go to the Daily Grind and buy drinks?”

The question was not the one he expected her to ask, bringing forth a little sigh as he nodded. “It was a silly attempt to try to cheer you up, bribing you with your favorite drink. And you weren’t even here.”

“Practically beat down your door.” Marshall added gleefully, earning a glare from Charles.

“I might have been a little…overzealous…” he abashedly replied.

An amused chuckle echoed in the corridor as the Viewtuber was clearly enjoying Charles squirm. “He did more than beat on your door-”

“That is enough Benjamin.” He sternly declared with gritted teeth. 

“Benjamin?” Angela echoed, the first time hearing that name used to address him. Vikki nodded to confirm as she met her roommate’s green gaze.

“Might we have some privacy?” Charles asked of the onlookers.

“Looks like you got all the privacy you need with the way you two talk.” Dean scoffed with crossed arms. Sam pulled her lips in with an amused and embarrassed smirk, giving her two friends a look that clearly begged for some alone time.

“I think it’s best that we give them the space they need.” Vikki agreed, tugging on Angela as she turned toward the stairway. “We’ll be in the car.” She informed them, moving the redhead along who tossed one final Fuck You stink eye at Charles.

“Come on dudes, that’s our cue.” Marshall announced, opening his door and ushering them back inside his apartment. “If ya need anything…”

“She won’t.” Charles assured him firmly, exhausted with all the bodyguards serving as obstacles and barriers. He’d never known a single person with such an army at her disposal, and he knew there were more in reserve.

He turned back to her, letting out a breath of relief. “You’ve been a troublesome woman to find.”

She cocked her head a bit in agreement. If not for all of the support from her friends, she wouldn’t have been. She probably wouldn’t have ignored so many attempts to be reached, nor her door when he came knocking…they would’ve shared the drinks and talked on that first day. None of this would’ve happened. The past few days had seemed like a bad dream.

“Am I….Am I still worth the trouble?” she dared ask.

“Oh Bunty…even more so.” He breathlessly whispered, pulling her hands right up against his chest, pressing them flush against his pectorals. “Even without you, I couldn’t deny what you’ve done to me.”

“What? What…I’ve done?”

He leaned in just ever so closer. “It amazes me how oblivious you can be to something. It is so adorable, and yet frustrating at the same time.”

She continued to stare up him, her heartrate increasing, her pulse racing, and how her knees felt that urge to collapse.

“What do you think I meant those days ago?”

Was he even closer now? Her knees buckled.

He caught her easily as she started to slip and guided her just the few steps to her door, gently pressing her back to the metal structure. She released just the tiniest gasp as the cool surface met with her skin, but at least she had something to help support her. His hand came up, caressing her jawline in what started out in the usual way, but suddenly became something else entirely when those long fingers of his tickled her throat, running alongside the veins in her neck, snaking their way around to the back, tracing up the vertebrae and the base of her skull.

Her eyes slowly shut, falling into the soothing caress as he cradled her head. 

“The things you make me feel….things I haven’t felt…not since…her.” He whispered the confession in her ear, his breath tingling against her skin. “I never thought I could that way again and even feel something new.”

New?

Her eyes fluttered open.

She was met with his intense crystalline gaze, again so close.

“So…it-t won’t be the same? As before?”

How could eyes melt? Truly, that was the only way she could describe it. He melted.

“No.” he answered, his voice so low she barely heard it despite his proximity. 

“It’s not the same, but it is true. It is real. And while I may be new at giving myself a second chance, I will not give you anything less than everything I possess within myself, just praying that it is enough.”

Blinking in rapid succession, she felt a hot tidal wave dowse herself from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes and every spot in between. She lifted a hand and brought it to his cheek, the softness of his skin surprising her. He was absolutely smooth shaven, like living marble. 

Just so darn pretty….

“Why…why wouldn’t you be enough?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Because I wasn’t before, and I haven’t been since.”

A lump collected in her throat. “She was so wrong.” 

He shut his eyes, the conviction of her words hitting him hard, feeling like a salve to a burn. They suddenly flew open when he felt the soft press of her lips to his, her hand pulling him to close the last inches of air between them. So caught off guard by her boldness, he let himself be carried in by her lead as she took her first breath and returned to continue the kiss.

His fingers slid into her hair, curling strands around in his grasp, tilting her head backwards just a bit, his other hand cradling her jaw and deepening the kiss, now back to his senses. His sneaky little Bunty getting the drop on him? Oh no no, that was not going to happen again. A little slip of tongue and she gasped with the feel and surprise of it, causing him to chuckle as he continued, not letting up until she needed air once more.

She panted with the inexperienced exhaustion but the passion was not lost in her eyes.

“That look should be illegal.” He smiled, gazing down at her. “I swear I’ll never get anything done if you look at me like that.”

Air swished out of her nose with the little laugh at his joke. She never wanted to part from his embrace but she knew if she was any longer the horn would start honking and there’d be a fearful bellow from the already aggravated redhead. 

“I-I should be going…” she reluctantly said, casting her eyes down. “I just came up here to get another pair of shoes.”

He met her forehead with his own. “Of course…I am so glad I caught you when I did. I would have stayed here all day and even through the evening if need be.”

“What? You staked my place out?” She was careful this time to not jerk her head up but the revelation did come at a small shock.

“I did.” He answered, his voiced muffled by the press of his lips to the crown of her head. “Unlike me yes, but I had run out of all other options.”

“Well, I guess it’s fair…I did sneak a look in the employee records for your address…”

He parted from his embrace with her. “About that…”

She prepared for a verbal lashing but none came. Instead, his hands took hold of her face once more. “I was too absorbed in my own self-pity to even consider the danger you put yourself in just to reach me. And I promise I shall never let that happen again. If you want to come to my place then all you need do is say so. I will give you a proper tour and treat you like the honored guest you are.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, I thought you were going to be mad at me.”

“Bunty, mad is the furthest thing I am with you. If anything, I am mad for you.”

The tip of her tongue snuck out between her teeth as she ran it along in nervous habit. "I would like to be invited to your place. Is that ok?” she implored with the ever effective doe eye glance only she could master so effortlessly.

“Of course. If you haven’t already made plans…would you like to this evening?” He inquired with hopeful eyes. “There are…still a few things I do need to disclose with you. And I believe it would best in a comfortable setting…without so many prying eye and ears around.”

With a tilt of his head and the sideways glance of his eyes, Sam followed his cue and received a jolt when she saw Angela standing at the stairway, arms crossed, tapping her foot with impatience.

“Angela!” Sam cried, face immediately going red. “Really!”

“Ya gonna stand there and make out in the hall all day or are you coming back with us?” she demanded. “Got things to do if ya don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry Charles….I…” she faltered. “Gotta get the shoes…” she remembered, turning to her door and unlocking it. He collected the cups still filled with their spoiled contents and followed her, dumping them down the kitchen sink with hot water to follow, tossing the Styrofoam cups in her trash as she headed to her room and selected a pair. They exited together and locked up.

“You go on with your friends and freshen up. This will at least give me some time to put together a meal. And if they do not mind, I will pick you up at their place around 6pm?” he offered his arm and began escorting her back to her friend.

“Miss Angela.” He greeted her with a nod. 

She jutted her chin at him, arms still crossed, eyeing him with unrestrained suspicion. “You know how to handle yourself in a fight, I’ll give you that.”

Sam leaned over to him. “That’s a compliment.” She translated. He nodded with understanding as he held onto her arm, descending the stairway with care.   
Walking with her on his arm felt like a dream.  
……………………


	5. Faith…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles invites Samara over for a casual dinner at his penthouse so that they can speak privately, no distractions or interruptions for a conversation without holding anything back.

After parting ways with Samara in the parking lot, Charles made a run to the grocery store to select fresh ingredients for tonight’s meal. It had been such a long time since he had prepared a meal for two; he almost was at a loss with himself among the vast choices offered.

He kept having to remind himself, nothing too fancy, it’s just a casual dinner…

\--Casual, remember? You’ve done that once before, nothing to be on edge about.--

\--She’s not the type to be impressed with things like that…--

He recalled their first meal together, having purposely brought her to that fancy restaurant. He knew she was uncomfortable, yet she persisted she was fine. Their manner with each other was stiff, with awkward pauses until she asked to learn more about him outside of work, and oh how she lit up with excitement over the notion of escape rooms. Dressed with a long cardigan and hunched within herself, she was so far removed from the woman he later took out to dinner at the pub.

What a shock to his system that shoulder bearing blouse and skin tight jeans, that internal fire sparking as she discussed her game. The first glimpse of that confidence that he’d been nurturing was like watching the blossoming of a prized rose. He’d never been more proud, and then, suddenly….

There was no denying that she had had him then.

But he still hadn’t proved himself to her yet.  
……………….

Freaking out over not having any adequate “date” clothing packed in her bag, Vikki and Angela dragged Sam to each of their closets and began pulling garment after garment out. Most things were too risqué, too tight, too loose, just too far removed from her style that she felt overwhelmed. When she insisted on wearing just a regular tee shirt and jeans, they shook their heads and tsked. 

\--No no no, he invited you to his place for dinner, you need a little more than your everyday wear. We’ll find you something, don’t worry.--

Admiring their handiwork after it was all said and done, they fist bumped with pride. Their Sam was so delicious looking they doubted she’d be coming back to their place later…  
…………………..

Having been given the address, Charles arrived at the girls’ apartment just a few minutes after six. It took him a few minutes to find the place. Angela opened the door, presenting herself in the guardian fashion. He honestly was not surprised in the least it would be her he’d have to face.

“Miss Angela.” He greeted.

She arched a ginger eyebrow at the man. She had to admit the sonofabitch was fine as hell: Tall, blond, and handsome, just how she liked them. But, this guy was purely all Sam’s. He also had the accent thing going for him too. He wasn’t wearing glasses earlier but he was now. Dude was a hot nerd.

“Am I to have Cinderella home by midnight?” he inquired, hands in his pockets.

“Only if she wants to be.” She smirked and followed through with a wink.

\--Oh really?--

Vikki brought Sam into the living room, having made last minute touches with just a hint of makeup and securing her bangs back. Sam felt more comfortable in Vikki’s offered garments, going with a bohemian blouse and linen knee length skirt.

Charles felt his chest tighten at the sight of her, even in that simple outfit. He doubted he’d ever be able to look at her without that pinch in his ribs, no matter what she was wearing. She was too under his skin now.

Angela and Vikki shared a quick knowing look between them as they saw how Sam and Charles’s eyes never left each other, that smile that crossed their faces. These two were sooo hot for each other it was increasing the temperature in the room.

“Okay you kids, have fun!” Angela perked up, disrupting the adoring gaze between the lovebirds. “Don’t worry bout us, we’re usually up late gaming.”

“See you guys later.” Sam waved to them, Charles closing the door behind him as they left.

Angela turned to Vikki. “I don’t know what he’s planned for dinner but I can guarantee you she’s his dessert.”  
……………………

“Again, you look stunning tonight.” He commented as he started up the car and left their apartment complex. 

“Thanks…It’s borrowed though…I didn’t really pack…nice stuff.” She replied with a hint of embarrassment.

“You have amazingly supportive friends. Truly surprising what they do for you.”

“I’m really sorry about Angela. She didn’t get you too bad, did she?”

He chuckled. “Course not.” She bruised his ego far worse than his body. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was merely acting on the behalf of her friend, thinking she was in danger. He respected that. 

“She’s always been like that, since we met in elementary school.”

“Really? You go back that far?” he replied, letting her regal him with how they came into her life and how they were members of their own guild in World of Warquest. He smiled; recalling how he once had mates he was thick as thieves with. It was a lifetime ago. She’d yet to be betrayed like he had been. 

“Charles? Something wrong?” she asked.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You looked sad for a moment.”

\--Oh.--

“Just remembering when I had friends like that.” He answered, pulling into the lot of his building. “We have arrived.”

She allowed him to come around and open her door of the car, to the building, to the elevator, and all the way up to his penthouse door. Even though she was fully capable, she had already grown accustomed to his natural habit of his. There was still a little dying sunlight left in the sky, filling his home with soft romantic orange hues.

“Come, I’ll show you around before we lose the light.” He offered, leading her down the hallway and into the living room. What a world of difference it made. It practically was an entirely different apartment. Her eyes darted around, trying to drink it all in. With a little touch to her hand, he had her follow him to the sliding door and stepped out onto the rooftop patio.

“You have all this space to yourself?”

“Perks of having the penthouse suite.” He boasted, taking her hand into his. He led her around, showing off the incredible view around like a king showing off his kingdom, watching her expression as she beheld the new view. He’d long ago lost the admiration it once inspired but seeing her face reignited its appreciation. 

“You could see a thousand different sunsets, and no two would be the exact same.” She stated in awe, lost in the amazement of how beautiful the city could be in the right light. “I bet sunrise is just as lovely.”

He nodded. The prospect of a mostly glass home was not something he’d ever envision himself living in, at least not back in Wales. In America though, he was a changed man, inside and out. “The top floor also has its own view.” He commented with a little nod of his head for her to turn around and look at the glass structure.

“I bet.” She murmured, uncomfortable with the idea of so many windows. “You sure…people can’t…see in?”

He chortled with unabashed delight at the inquiry. “You’re not planning on doing something, are you?” he teased, watching her ears redden. “No Bunty, no one can see in.” At least, if anyone had they haven’t complained….

“Come, the meatloaf should be ready.” He said, nudging her along. “I still have some finishing touches to add.”

“I noticed how good it smelled.” She smiled, already salivating as she followed his lead. When they entered the dinning/kitchen area she saw that two places had already been set at the table, large enough to seat eight.

He set to work whisking up the gravy and even pouring it into a gravy boat—because of course, did she really expect him not to have one?—and stood with her hands behind her back. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Take a seat.” He answered. “You’re the guest.”

She figured he’d say that, taking the end of the table and just observing as he moved about. Wasn’t it not too long along that he tricked her into making coffee, claiming he was terrible at handling himself in the kitchen? She kept that little revelation to herself with a small smirk on her lips as he carried the loaf to the table, setting it on a prepared cloth. It smelled amazing.

“You look surprised.” He remarked.

“I’ll reserve my real surprise after I’ve tried it.” She countered.

“That’s usually where I sit.” He pointed out.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’ll move.” She immediately started to back out of the chair but was stopped.

“It’s completely fine Samara; I want you to be comfortable.” He placed the potatoes and the gravy on the table as well and poured himself a glass of wine. When he set it beside his plate he noticed her reserved glance at it. She wasn’t fast enough at pretending she hadn’t, despite how quickly she adverted her gaze to it. “Does me having a glass make you comfortable?”

“No.” she shook her head, but he could tell. He reached out and placed his hand over hers, much like he’d done in Mr. Harris’s conference room.

“It’s because of the other evening, isn’t it?” he said, realizing just how much of an ogre he’d presented himself that night.

She was unable to bring herself to say anything, not knowing if she should say anything. It was his home after all. Tell someone they can’t enjoy a glass of wine in their own home? Could she really say something like that?

“I understand your reservation. If it makes you uncomfortable, just say so, I won’t be offended.”

“You say that, but you still might feel that way. I’m sorry, I just…I’d never seen you like that before…”

Guilt bubbled up within in. “For the record, after downing that bottle I am in no hurry to replenish my stock. There’s a reason it’s referred to as hard liquor. Wine on the other hand, is by far a milder vice. But I shall put it aside while you’re here.” He began to turn out of his chair.

“Wait, Charles…you don’t have to…I mean, you had a glass of wine when we went out to lunch and you were fine, so it’s alright…”

“Are you certain?” he needed to know.

She smiled at him, nodding. “It’s alright. In fact…could I try a sip?” she inquired with a bat of her lashes.

That pull of hers hooked him again. He acquiesced with a smile of his own, handing her the glass. She gave it a curious sniff at first, swirling it in the receptacle before bringing it to her lips for a tiny indulgence. Her face twinged as if she had sucked on a lemon but she followed through with a second sip.

She handed it back to him with her eyes squinting. “That…”

“It’s an acquired taste.” He commented, entertained by her display. After that, he served both their plates and began their meal. The first little moan from her told him all he had needed to hear about the food. For several minutes, their dinner was a pleasant mix of delectable chewing and the exchange of compliments.

“May I ask something?” she broke the following silence with her inquiry.

“Of course.”

“You said…you said there were some who already knew of your divorce…Who knows?”

“Ah.” He replied, dabbing his lips with his napkin. “That would be Umed. And it seems I owe an apology for believing him to have loose lips. I just assumed he had, being the chatty fella he is.”

“How did he find out?”

“I told him.” He answered stoically. “More or less, he caught me in a vulnerable moment, and I let it all out.” He laid the napkin on the glass surface and drummed his fingers along. “We were new hires, attending our first New Year’s Eve party for the company…I had already indulged in one too many…” He turned his head ever so slightly to see her face. “When you looked into my employee record, did you happen to see my birthdate?”

“I wasn’t paying too much attention to that to be honest. I think it’s in December though, right?”

He gave her a nod. “December 31st to be exact.”

“Oh.” She replied, sensing why he might have already been vulnerable and having a little excess. She wasn’t expecting what came next.

“It is not only my birthday…but also my anniversary.”

She blinked several times. “You married on your birthday? Why?”

He sighed. “For years now, I have asked myself that over and over. In hindsight it is quite the foolish choice, but at the time, well, I suppose love makes one blind.”

She waited while he took a big sigh. She knew it wasn’t easy for him to have to talk about any of this. She knew couples got divorced all the time, things didn’t work out between some people for whatever reason…But why was he in still so much pain?

“As a kid, I would often pretend my birthday was on the 13th instead, just so I could actually have a party with my schoolmates. You can’t expect to have everyone attend when it’s right in the middle of the holiday, half of them are out of town, the other half are hosting relatives from out of town….” He shook his head. “It’s just how it is….and I wanted my birthday to mean something more for once. And it did, for a little while….”

\--Why do I feel like it’s only going to get worse?--

“It may come as a shock, but I was once an innocent shy kid with my head full of dreams, my heart so full of love that I married the day I turned eighteen.”

“Eighteen?” she echoed, caught by complete surprise. She covered her mouth in embarrassment. 

“Yes Bunty, eighteen. The day I officially became a man, in more ways than one.”

Her cheeks flushed. Ohhhhh.

“And then, by the time I was your age…I was a brokenhearted divorcee, immigrated to a new country, no one I could call a friend, my only comfort in a bottle…I was lost, breaking down…and Umed was the only one who took the time to care…so I told him.”

She slowly slid her hand across the polished surface of the dining table, this time offering comfort to him with the gesture. There wasn’t anything she could say, or knew what to say, all she knew was just to be there for him.

“I came home early…” his voice trailed off.

\--Oh boy…this must be pretty bad…Charles never talks like this…--

“Wait.” She said, stopping him. “Charles, you don’t have to-”

“It’s painful, yes…but I told you I would be honest with you.” He gripped her hand in reassurance. “Please…”

She nodded. “Go ahead.”

“God, why is this so hard to say?” he asked out loud, hiding his face with his other hand. “I walked in…I still see it so clearly…Her…and him…in our bed…”

She inhaled sharply.

“My best friend no less…” he continued. 

There was a heavy silence, interrupted only by the little sniffs and hitches of breath. He still had his head turned away from her, hiding his face with his hand as he felt her rub her thumb along his other hand in comfort. The ugly truth had been revealed as he promised.

Samara gathered her courage. “You didn’t deserve that. Not from either of them.”

He remained frozen in his position, although he held his breath.

“Despite whatever you think, you’re still a good person. You know you are. You always are with me.”

He turned around finally. “You are a good person, and deserve to be treated as such.”

“Is that the only reason then? Just because?”

“No, of course not.” He turned his body towards her, covering her hand that still held his. “I only meant…that, when I’m with you, you make me want to be better.”

“Better? I like just how you are. Well, I mean, I don’t like seeing you hurt. I don’t like it when my family degrades you. I wish I could make them see you as I do.”

A self-deprecating smile rose on his lips, and faltered. “And how do you know if I haven’t merely played you along all this time, gaining your trust only to turn it around and be what everything already thinks of me?” he brought his hand up to her cheek, tracing her jawline with a finger.

“I highly doubt that you would go through so much grief, so much drama, and put up with all my insecurities just so you could get whatever it is you want. It doesn’t seem worth the trouble.”

\--Oh but she is…this precious gem, she truly is…--

“Samara…have you…ever carried around something…even if it didn’t always have a pleasant memory attached to it?”

A contemplative look crossed her face as she considered his question.

He pulled his hand back. “Never mind, it’s a foolish-”

“Yes actually.” She answered. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You know I was often hospitalized, all through my childhood. Each time, the nurses put a laminated paper bracelet on your wrist with all your information on it. There’s a barcode they scan when they make their rounds…anyway, I’d get so used to wearing them that I wouldn’t take them off for days after coming home.”

She reached for her glass of water, took a sip, and continued.

“I would keep them, trying to keep track, see if there was a pattern to the time of year and when things would get bad. There were some attacks I had, pretty memorable although scary, I’d look back on and tell myself ‘well I made it through this time’ so maybe the worst is already behind me.” She let out a laugh. “I know it sounds weird. There were some other kids in the hospital, they did the same thing. Almost like collecting Pokémon cards…”

Her story warmed him, giving him hope that she would understand about his own memento. He’d been blessed with excellent health, so the troubles she faced on a regular basis were alien to him, understanding as he was, there were still some things that only those who experienced it could fully grasp the concept of. It was not unheard of to turn something like the trauma of being in the hospital into a mockery of some sort, a way to cope with the situation, to overcome it.

He released her hand and reached into his pocket. “Then you might be able to understand this…” he stated, placing the metal chain and its golden occupant on the table with a clink.

“Is that…?” she hesitated to both finish the question and reach for the object.

“It is.” He replied. “Something I couldn’t let go of, despite how much it hurts to look upon it.”

“But why torture yourself with it all these years?”

“It served as a reminder.” He explained in a solemn tone. “Not to let anyone get too close, not to trust, and especially not to give my heart away. And you have no idea how many times you’ve nearly pulled this away from me.”

She froze. “What?”

He toyed with the ring, running his finger along it, as she watched. “Grabbing onto my arm, making me chase you back to your office, and the night we went out…you have been slowly separating me from this in just the few weeks you’ve begun working under me.”

“I had no idea.”

“Well, this is one thing I didn’t tell Umed.” He scooped it back into his hand, holding onto it but unmoving. “I don’t want to carry it any longer…but I’ve had it so long…”

She pushed her seat away from the table and stood up. Startled by her abrupt movement, he looked up to see her collecting the plates. He immediately got to his feet and starting reaching as well. “There’s no need to do that.”

“I know, but it’s the least I can do.” She explained with a smile. “Why don’t you put that aside for now and help me?” she indicated the ring in his hand.

\--Is she trying to distract me from this?--

Rather than shoving it back into his pocket, he held onto it as he collected his dishes, set it on the kitchen counter, and shared in the duties of rinsing everything off in the sink. “Where do you keep your Tupperware?” she asked, opening up the lower cabinets. 

“Actually, up there.” He pointed above her head with his chin as he came back with the meatloaf pan in his hands. She stood on tippy-toes and reached for a container, kicking one foot up to somehow counterbalance the extreme angle she was extending herself, fingertips brushing the slick plastic but not finding purchase. All the while a certain Welshman found it adorable.

“I can hear you laughing.” She grunted, making the scene all the more entertaining. “Darn it!”

Having quite the chuckle at this display, Charles decided her struggle had carried on long enough as he had carried all the food back into the kitchen in the whole time. He came up behind her and reached for the container with ease, almost mocking her with his height as he slowly brought in down, looking down at her as she tilted her head up at him, quite aware of just how close he was.

“Thanks?” she quivered. 

“No, thank you.” He replied as he brought a hand and stroked his finger through her hair, following with a kiss to her crown. And just as he slunk up behind her with such ease, he slipped away with the container. She slowly lowered to the balls of her feet, exhaling just as slowly. 

\--He has to know how that proximity affects me, why else would he get so close?—

She watched as he made quick work of the leftovers, getting both meatloaf and the remaining potatoes into the same container. The gravy boat was wrapped in cellophane and all stored in the fridge. Then he opened the freezer and pulled out two ice cream cones with a grin on his face.

“Can’t go wrong with ice cream.” He joked, handing her one.

“Is this going to be a regular thing with you?” she laughed, unwrapping to reveal the chocolate coated treat.

“Depends on what a regular occurrence us eating together would be.” He replied, motioning for her to follow as he led them back out to the rooftop. “Now you get to see this city glow.”

She felt his infectious joy as he took her by the hand and led her up to the parapet overlooking the surrounding L.A. high-rises and rested her arms on it, as he did, watching and listening to the city nightlife. Normally heights like this made her anxious, but if Charles trusted his weight against the wall then so could she. Granted, he leaned his lithe frame on it with ease while she felt akin to being a child, it coming higher to her chest.

“I bet you host amazing parties here.” She mused out loud and then caught herself. “I mean, you could…if you wanted.”

\--One needs friends to host a party…--

\--This would be a perfect place to watch fireworks…--

“I…might take that into consideration…” he replied, following that remark with another lick to his ice cream cone. “Although, I’d probably be a terrible host.”

“Are you asking for an assistant?” she joked, nudging him with her elbow. He chuckled at her double entendre, her intelligence and humor a rare treat for him to interact with. 

“Samara…” he said, catching her attention so she turned towards him. “Why did you kiss me earlier?”

“Oh. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by doing that.”

“I never said I was uncomfortable with it. I merely asked as to why. Was it just from pity?”

“Of course not. I don’t go around just kissing anyone. Well, no one actually…It’s just that I felt…like it was the right thing to do.” She quickly glanced away. “I’m not really experienced with it so I’m sorry if I wasn’t very good.”

Charles watched the nerves take over, causing her to turn into herself once more. Had she not been comforting and patient with him just moments ago? Not very good? It had been exactly what he needed. Soft and sweet. “I make no complaints Bunty, but I do advise to be prepared for consequences to follow, doing something like that.”

She took a heavy crunching bite of her cone, eyes fixed on the beautiful cityscape before her. It was a pathetic tactic to avoid his piercing gaze and how his words resonated with a deeper meaning than just the waring he vocalized. He was always good at that, saying something which led her to think there was a second meaning. Unlike most people in her life who spoke plainly, transparently, his words were shrouded in a smoky haze, just enough to make one wonder what was on the other side.

Admirable display of keeping herself in check, he mused, quite aware of how she pretended not to be bothered by his statement. Distracting herself with the view, with the quickly melting ice cream, she managed to look completely nonplussed.

His composure was fine, until she started licking her fingers, her pert little tongue darting to lap up melted vanilla ice cream that had fallen in between. He cleared his throat and turned his head for a moment, mentally admonishing himself for allowing himself to become so easily ruffled.

\--She is too entirely a temptation in everything she does.—

His own cone finished, he returned his attention back to her. Worried now that dinner and dessert were finished, she would want to return to her friends’ apartment, he searched for something to say.

“I promise I’ll work on my emotional tendencies when we return to work.” She said, breaking the silence. “You already have your hands full with enough without me being clingy, or crying or having an attack-”

He reached his hand out and grasped hold of hers, squeezing gently. “It is I who needs to work on their emotional tendencies. I never want to see you quake in fear of me, never again.” He lifted her hand off the parapet and slowly pulled her closer to him, that growing cingulomania in him compelling his action. “I never want to be the reason for your tears.”

She allowed him to place her hand to his chest. Touching like this had quickly become commonplace between them, only in private though. For once, they were outside of the office and aware of what something like this meant, and it did not frighten her in the least. In fact she yearned for it.

“Allow me my sincerest apologies Samara.” He begged as he brought his other hand to her waist, softy pressing against her back, closing the distance between them. 

\--He holds me like I’m something dear to him…is this just his manners, or does he really…am I really beautiful to him?—

“It’s alright.” She casually threw out, glancing off to the side with a nibble to her lip as she struggled to somehow voice the question in her mind. She felt his thumb and forefinger take hold of her chin and guide her gaze back onto him.

“What’s worrying you?” he asked softly.

She blew out a breath, tinged in the aftertaste of vanilla and gathered her courage. “I…h-have to know…”

“Know what? You can ask me anything.” He encouraged, heart racing with trepidation.

“Do you really…I mean, me…being….attractive?” the word burned in her throat as it emerged, but it finally came out.

How she fought so hard to ask him that had set in an ache in his chest that he wasn’t aware he could possess. Did this inquiry have anything to do with her not being able to handle any more rejection? Just who had wounded her in such a way?

“My dear, have I not convinced you of the beauty you possess?” he replied, bringing her face up just ever so closer to his.

“Wait.” She whispered, stopping before he could kiss her. He looked surprised, even hurt, but more confused than anything else.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” He loosened his hold on her.

‘No…please not again…I can’t take this…’ he mentally cried. ‘Don’t have her push me away again…’

“I just have to be sure.” She answered; fingers pawing at his chest as she brought her head back up to meet his eye. “When Link said that to me, it felt like he was just confirming what had been in my mind all along, that I wasn’t attractive enough to have a man’s attention, let alone someone like you. And even though you said all those things at dinner…I just thought, maybe you were just trying to cheer me up so we could talk about Ruminate and I felt like a fool for telling you I thought of you all night because I’m so obviously inexperienced about all this stuff and I just make it all worse asking these stupid questions…..” her explosive response ended with tears pooling in her eyes, wiping them away in shame as she had gone red in the face. She turned to hide her face, fighting so hard not to break into sobs as she soiled the bell sleeves of the blouse.

The wind felt knocked out of his lungs as he digested everything she had divulged, the realization of her crippled self-esteem evident now. An anger welled up inside that started in the pit of his stomach and climbed upward, feeling hotter with each organ it passed. The entirety of it all hit him, he knew the boy she spoke of, he knew she had thrown herself on his arm in the anticipation of spending more time with him…

He was cradling the back of her head in one hand, giving her a simple comfort as she tended to her tears. “I’m sorry, god I just promised I’d get better at this!”

“Bunty, look at me.” He ordered. He could easily force her head up if he so chose, but he waited for her to at her own pace, her sparkling doe eyes tugging every heartstring of his. “I cannot fathom as to why your friend would ever say that to you, and while I take no pleasure in having you be so insulted, I am taking this opportunity, right now, to tell you that you have become the woman in my dreams. The woman who freezes me midstep the moment I see her in my office. The woman whose beautiful eyes capture my soul. And she is more precious to me than any woman I have had in my life.”

She sniffled and hiccupped in the silence that followed his confession. 

“If there is any way I can convince you of this, I gladly will.”

All she could do was nod.

Permission granted.

He lifted his glasses off his face and slid them back to rest upon his head, the temples pulling back that luscious weft of hair that always hung over his left eye. He then gently removed her pair, closed them up and held them between two fingers as he cradled her face, bringing her ever so closer to his own, watching all the while as she squinted her eyes and eventually shut them, smiling at her innocence.

\--So precious—

Yet, he hesitated.

There was no turning back from this.

“Samara…” he whispered, his lips just barely touching hers. Her name rolled effortlessly off his tongue, it becoming more than just a form of address, it had become his sanctuary. Her hands slid up his chest and rested at his neck, her fingers delicately playing with the fine tendrils along his neck, sending shivers down his spine. 

\--You make me so weak…--

He closed his eyes as he pressed his lips to hers, soft and delicate, tilting her head back and yet pulling her body flush against his, claiming her as well as surrendering to her. She pulled on his neck as she rose to tip toes once more, wanting him as much as she hoped he wanted her.

\--You make me regret so many things…--

He ran his hand through her hair, grasping a handful of tendrils as he delved deeper into the kiss, unable to part with her for an instant. 

\--You make me have Hope…--

His other hand, still clutching her glasses, pulled around her waist, enclosing her with warmth and tenderness, her tiny frame fitting in so snuggly into his, as if she were crafted especially for his arms to hold.

\--You make me Dream Samara…--

He could feel it in her as she struggled for air, pulling back just enough to collect a gulp of air himself, so lost in the euphoria that he’d nearly forgotten they needed to breathe. She panted, face flushed, eyes half lidded and her lips parted for more. Her fingers dug into the back of his neck as she pulled him further down.

“Again.” She whispered, dying to fill that void which had momentarily felt completed, not knowing how or why but only sure that he was the one to do it. “Please.”

Her little beg shattered what remaining composure he had left, releasing the tethers that still held in him place, unleashing the passionate beast within that kept himself in check for long. Rather than surrender to primal urges, he met her forehead with his own, feeling his glasses slide down. She reached up and took them off, holding onto them as he held onto hers. A little smile crinkled her nose as they shared the silent exchange before he dipped her back, causing her to immediately clutch onto him, a chuckle in his throat as he pressed his lips to her neck, reveling in the tender flesh and the shiver that passed through her afterwards.

\--You give me Faith once again…--

“Bynty Hardd.” He purred in his accent, thickened and husky as he nipped at her, causing her to gasp. “Fy bynty melys.” 

“That’s cheating.” She panted in a choked breath, trying to not let her asthma get the better of her in this moment.

He merely smirked with delight, bringing her upright to meet with another gently applied kiss. However much his blood was becoming fired up he knew it would be best to take it slow, if he was going to get it right this time. She leaned into him, her head on his chest, breathing in his scent and basking in his warm embrace. As he had that fateful day in his office, he leaned his head down and nuzzled against her crown, enveloped in the scent of her hair.

They stood and held each other for an unknown amount of time, the evening sky darkening into inky blackness, a few speckles of stars dotting the heavens but mostly lost in the illumination of the bustling nightlife. There was the occasional honk, siren, blare of music…it all was lost in a melodic mix becoming nothing more than elevator music as nothing else seemed to exist beyond each other.

\--Samara Young, you give me a reason to feel alive once more…--

True to his word, he had delivered her safe and soundly to her friends’ apartment before the midnight hour, as difficult as it was to finally separate himself from her and keep his hands off of her as they returned to his penthouse, down the elevator, through the lobby and the parking lot, all through the drive and now they found themselves at the door, unwilling to put the evening to bed.

“Will I see you on Monday?” he inquired, fingers running through her hair absentmindedly. 

“Yes.” She answered. “I’ll call my dad in the morning and tell him we talked. Hopefully, it’ll put him in a happier mood and he won’t be threatening your life.”

“I doubt I shall be doing much sleeping this evening.” He whispered against her ear, following through with a tiny nibble to her lobe.

She flinched with the tickle it sent through her. “Stop that.” She giggled. 

He nuzzled against her cheek, his hands on her shoulders, barely in control of his urges once again. Driving home and sleeping alone was the one thing he was not looking forward to, not when he’d rather have his sweet Bunty in his arms all night. But he could share in one final kiss goodnight….

As if reading his mind, she pushed up on her toes and wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him in. He secured his hands to her waist, pinning her against the wall as he delved for a kiss, undisturbed in the least when the door opened and a familiar head of red hair poked out. He reached over with his left hand and took the knob, pulling the door closed as Angela retreated within the abode, her face as flushed as her hair.

All the while Sam oblivious with her eyes shut, glasses pushed up and askew as she hungrily devoured the lips of her lover, the world non-existent beyond her peripheral vision.

In that moment, a silent pact passed between the redhead and the man she had attacked earlier that day, neither one mentioning to Sam of that moment at her doorstep.   
……………………………..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the PG version. I have an alternative ending planned where things take a more "mature" route and will include that as part of a series to this. Stay tuned for that, still a work in progress.


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